What the Elephants Forgot
by Avia Tantella Scott
Summary: After Aslan awakened the world, the Elephants played an integral role in his Council and the early history of Narnia. However, they soon disappeared from that land altogether, never to be seen again. This is the story of what may have happened.


**Author's Note:** As I was reading through "The Magician's Nephew" for about the millionth time, it struck me as odd the number of animals that are mentioned in the book that we never see again in any of the rest of the series. It rather bothered me that so much emphasis was placed upon the Elephants, Winged Horses, etc., yet they are mysteriously absent from other books. This is my attempt to explain why the Elephants, who were so important as to be appointed to Aslan's Council o' the Neevil (as I call it) and mentioned repeatedly throughout the later chapters of MN, seem to have disappeared from Narnia altogether. It's a bit of a different fic for me, so I hope you enjoy it!

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**What the Elephants Forgot**

It was a summer night like any other, full of warm breezes that sang through the trees and stars that twinkled and danced in their nightly trek across the vast heavens. Somewhere far below, on a wide grassland only occasionally punctuated by low trees, two young Elephants lay on the soft earth, their heads up as they gazed at the stars. It was nearly time for the few hours of rest they would take that night, carefully guarded by the mothers and aunts and other female relatives of their herd. But first, as always, there would be a bedtime story.

An Elephant, as of course you know, is quite incapable of forgetting almost anything. This, naturally, makes them the very best of storytellers, as they are always able to remember the best details and never seem to leave any of the good bits out. To be treated to a storytelling by an Elephant is really a great honor and a wonderful thing, and I truly wish that you one day would have such an opportunity. Their incredible memories are also, perhaps, why Elephants never seem to be asked to teach history lessons, for at times such details as they retain can become quite tedious. Imagine how long it would take an Elephant to recount the Battle of Waterloo and I'm sure you'll understand.

These two Elephants, girl-cousins and one a year older than the other, had heard many tales since they were born, for there is nothing an Elephant loves more than reciting a good story, and very little a young Elephant loves more than hearing one. Their mothers and aunts and grandmothers often took it in turns to pass on these histories and tales to the youngest members of their herd, and on this particular night that duty fell to the mother of the oldest calf.

The story she told was in no way unfamiliar, and because of its repeated telling the calves were beginning to think that it must be a very important story indeed. It concerned the beginning of a world, the song of a Lion and the awakening of all the living things. Then there was a great deal about a Neevil and of course the contributions of the First Elephants were highlighted as of particular interest. Then came the familiar ending of the coronation of a new King and Queen who would rule over all the new Animals with kindness and justice.

"And so, my dear ones, you are of a very proud and honorable lineage," the mother said in closing, "being the direct descendants of the He-Elephant, who was summoned to the first Council by Aslan himself, and the She-Elephant who looked after the strange creature who had come with the Lord Digory and the Lady Polly. This you must never forget."

You, of course, know that that creature was none other than Digory's Uncle Andrew, but that particular fact was of little importance to the Elephants.

"But Mother," the elder calf put in, "Where are the King and Queen now? We Calves have never seen or heard from them."

"That is a story for another time," she replied, though not unkindly. "For at this hour, all good Calves should be asleep."

Begrudgingly, the little Elephants obeyed, but the next night when it came time for stories, the elder calf immediately brought up the subject again. That evening's storyteller, who was one of the Allomothers, answered her query with a tale of the years after the story that the little ones already knew so well. This was a story of a peaceful time, of a wise and just King and a good and gentle Queen, of the heroic deeds of their honorable children and the great love that was felt between the Royal House and the Elephants during those years.

"And so, my dear ones, you are of a very proud and honorable lineage," she said, "being the direct descendants of a noble family of Elephants who helped shape that country into the great land it became. This you must never forget."

When it seemed as though the Allomother was finished, the elder calf spoke up again.

"But Allomother," she said, "Why do we not have a King and a Queen now, if they had so many children and the family were so beloved by the Elephants?"

"That is a story for another time," the Allomother replied, reaching out her long trunk to caress the side of the calf's face. "For at this hour, all good Calves should be asleep."

Again, the little Elephants obeyed, but the next evening the elder calf did not hesitate to repeat her question. An Aunt was that night's storyteller, and her story was not nearly so nice as those that came before it. Hers was a tale of turmoil and unrest, of a happy kingdom slowly being overcome by a cold darkness that gripped at every corner of the country like so many icy-fingered hands. She told of a strong and beautiful Queen who ruled the kingdom well, but was powerless to stop a force far greater than herself that loomed just beyond the horizon.

"And so, my dear ones, you are of a very proud and honorable lineage," she said, "being the direct descendants of a family of strong and true Elephants who stood by the Queen during her time of trouble and did what they could to keep the strange evil at bay. This you must never forget."

"But Aunt," spoke up the elder calf, "What happened to the Queen? Were the Elephants able to help her to win in the end?"

"That is a story for another time," Aunt replied, with a sad, soft smile that made her wrinkled face seem all the more beautiful in the starlight. "For at this hour, all good Calves should be asleep."

Disappointed, the little Elephants obeyed, but happily the elder calf did not have to repeat her question when another of the Allomothers came to tell them their nightly story the next evening. She immediately launched into the most woeful tale they'd heard yet, a story of war and loss and bitter defeats and the end of the kingdom when the beautiful Queen was struck down unmercifully at the hand of a Witch.

"And so, my dear ones, you are of a very proud and honorable lineage," she said, though somewhat sorrowfully, "being the direct descendants of a small family of valiant and courageous Elephants who resisted the Witch until defeat was upon them and never left their Queen to fight alone, who mourned her bitterly and kept her memory locked safely in their hearts. This you must never forget."

"But Allomother," the elder calf said, her heart heavy, "What happened to the Witch? Was she defeated in the end?"

"That is a story for another time," the Allomother replied, gently wiping a tear from the younger calf's eye with the tip of her trunk. "For at this hour, all good Calves should be asleep."

Heartsick, the little Elephants obeyed, not entirely certain that they wanted to hear more of the story if the ending was as sad as the middle.

The next night, storytelling duty fell to the Mother of the younger calf. Her story was of a nation that hid in fear, of Squirrels and Beavers who had an easier time of it and Zebras and Ostriches who were more conspicuous and therefore more frequently fell victim to the Witch's evil schemes. She told of cold and darkness and years without Christmas, of misery and hardship and hunger when nothing would grow.

"And so, my dear ones, you are of a very proud and honorable lineage," she said, her voice cracking almost imperceptibly, "being the direct descendants of those who were forced to leave the homeland their ancestors had helped to build and protect. This you must never forget."

"But Aunt," the elder calf put in, "What happened to the Witch? Does she still rule even now?"

"That is a story for another time," the other Mother said. "For at this hour, all good Calves should be asleep."

Dejected, the little Elephants obeyed.

The next evening, they finally heard the story's end from the oldest of the Grandmothers. Her voice warbled as she told of an exodus, of the escape of many different kinds of Animals out of that country and out of the winter. She told of the Camels who sought out the southern country called Calormen that was rumored to have soft sands and a warm sun, of Winged Horses that took flight and vowed to find the mountains that their ancestor Fledge had discovered in the very first days of the world. She told of how Warthogs and Tapirs had traveled with the Elephants and Lions for the protection their size and ferocity would bring, and of years spent wandering in search of peace and plenty.

"And so, my dear ones, you are of a very proud and honorable lineage," she wheezed. "My mother left her homeland behind, fleeing the turmoil and misery there and traveling into the far reaches of the so-called Western Wild and the land beyond where winter had not taken hold. She did this all while I was still in her womb; for almost two years she carried me as her family wandered, eventually arriving into an unknown land where they hoped to at last find rest. And that is how we Elephants have come to inhabit this place.

"This you must never forget, for even though these fifty-seven years have passed there may come a day, perhaps, when the Witch is defeated and we Elephants may return to Narnia. After all, it is in Narnia that Aslan meant for us to be. You must remember all these things that we have told you and store them up in your hearts, for one day the Elephants must return. You must not be like the ostriches, who so quickly forgot and now are nothing more than dumb beasts."

"The ostriches once could speak like us?" the younger calf spoke up in amazement.

"Many years ago," Grandmother answered. "But now they are no more Narnian than any of the other creatures of the Western Wild."

"We will not forget, Grandmother," the elder calf promised.

"And I do so hope that we get to go back to Narnia someday," the younger chimed in.

Grandmother smiled, her wrinkled face softening. "I as well, my dear ones. I as well."

Although they quite frequently heard the beginning parts of the tale during their nightly stories, the two calves only rarely were treated to the entire story with the bad parts and all. Nevertheless, as Elephants they never forgot the history that their family members had shared with them.

The calves grew up, as all children, regardless of species, are wont to do, and in time they had little ones of their own. The years went by and the Grandmothers and older Aunts and Allomothers passed on. Male calves grew up and left the familial herd, and once when the family grew a bit too large some of the younger Aunts and older Cousins separated themselves to form their own family group.

As the herd grew and changed the story was repeated, though with the Grandmothers gone the tale seemed much less real and important and the connection the new calves felt to those noble ancestral Elephants slowly grew weaker. With the passing of the generations, the Elephants were growing more attached to their surroundings, and the younger ones saw the Western Wild as more of a home than the temporary refuge their older relatives had assumed it to be.

Eventually, the news reached them of the miraculous defeat of the White Witch and the installment of the four monarchs prophesied to rule over Narnia and restore it to its former glory. By this time, the Elephant who had been the elder calf all those years ago was one of the oldest Grandmothers in the herd. Her aged heart leapt at the words of the Raven who had been sent by the new Kings and Queens to the far reaches of the Western Wild to find any exiled Narnians seeking refuge there.

"My children! My beloved family! The time has come for the Elephants to return to Narnia!" she cried, her voice coming out in more of a croak than the triumphant and earth-shaking tone she had once possessed. If her feeble body had permitted her, I'm quite sure she might have reared up or stomped for joy. But she was old and infirm, and not at all able to make the long and arduous journey back to Narnia. She knew and understood this, though it pained her heart horribly, and she did her very best to persuade her family to go without her and leave the older Elephants behind.

They vowed that they would not, however, and she was quite touched by their devotion. Although she accepted their decision, she did add in her sternest, most matriarchal voice that they must solemnly promise that when she passed on they would return to the land of their ancestors. And of course they promised that they would.

And so the Raven returned to Cair Paravel, bringing the news to Kings Peter and Edmund and Queens Susan and Lucy that there were still Narnian Elephants in the far corners of the world, and that they should be expected to return after seeing to the proper care of the elder members of their herd. Lucy in particular was overjoyed, having only ever seen an elephant in a zoo in that other place that she was having more and more trouble remembering. She quite looked forward to getting to know one personally, and anxiously awaited the day when they might arrive.

A few years went by with no sign of the Elephants' return. It was Queen Lucy who remembered them one day while reading and daydreaming in the enormous castle library, and soon enough her siblings had agreed to send out another envoy to check on their exiled subjects.

The Raven returned to the place in which he had found the Elephants before, and discovered that the older generation of Elephants had passed from that life and into whichever comes after it.

"You are invited to return to Narnia as your matriarch so wished," he said. "The Kings and Queens excitedly anticipate your arrival and look forward to restoring your noble kind to the honored place they once held in the Narnian court."

The new matriarch, who was far younger than the old and one of those who were quite attached to their current home, replied most politely that they intended to make the journey back to the land of their ancestors.

"However," she said, indicating three tiny baby Elephants with a sweeping gesture of her trunk, "Three of our Mothers have only just given birth. We cannot travel so far with so many newborns to care for. Please thank their Majesties and assure them that we will make the journey as soon as we are able."

Once again the Raven returned to the palace, and although Lucy was quite disappointed at his report she tried her best to understand.

You see, the Elephants were beginning to forget to remember Narnia. The stories were still told, of course, for it is not in an Elephant's nature to forget a good story. All the details were still there, but they were beginning to forget why the story was important. Narnia was feeling less and less like the home that they had lost and more and more like a faraway place where their ancestors had lived once upon a time, rather like you, as a Briton, might feel detached from Arthur's Camelot or, as an American, feel toward the country that your own ancestors left centuries ago in search of a better life in America. For the little calves, the stories of the He-Elephant who was invited to Aslan's council or the great heroes who resisted the Witch now seemed no more or less exciting than any other tales their mothers, grandmothers, aunts, and allomothers told.

From that day on, and mostly at Lucy's bidding, an emissary was sent to the Elephants in exile every few years with a renewed entreaty to return to the new Narnia. Each time, however, the stalwart Raven was given a new reason as to why he would be arriving back at Cair Paravel unaccompanied.

"Surely we would not be able to reach Narnia and find appropriate shelter before the winter strikes. Thank you very much all the same, but we couldn't possibly leave now!"

"Our herd has only just split into two separate groups, and we could not travel so far from our sisters. Let us consult with them, and perhaps we shall all travel together. But such things take time, you know; we Elephants are not as impetuous as Hares or Jackdaws or other Beasts."

"But there are no males in Narnia! Our line shall die out, and then where would we be? We must find and persuade the males to make the journey, too, but who knows where we are likely to find them at this time of year?"

With each disappointing return of the Raven, the Four grew more and more discouraged, and once Lucy had to be persuaded to abandon a plan to make the journey herself to speak to the Matriarch. She was all the more concerned because of the reports of other species losing their memories of Narnia and turning back into the dumb beasts from which Aslan had awakened them all those centuries ago. It broke her heart to know that there would never again be Talking Elk in Narnia, nor Ostriches or Tapirs or Zebras, even if she had never had the pleasure of meeting one herself to know what she had missed. So much of what the White Witch had stolen from Narnia had been restored, but so much had been lost, and the Valiant Queen saw the Elephants as one of the few remaining chances to make right something that the Witch had destroyed.

In time, however, other matters came to dominate the councils and energies of the Four. There was the matter of succession, as they were all growing older and were still without an heir, the Giants were beginning to create mischief in the North, and diplomatic relations with Calormen were ever becoming a more tense and precarious business. There was less and less time to think of wayward Elephants as tournaments had to be planned, treaties examined for loopholes and concealed advantages, strongholds built in the northern provinces, and suitors dealt with as they seemingly flooded the guest chambers in search of the hand of one monarch or the other.

One day, some years later, the Four and many fine members of their court were enjoying a hunt in an area of Lantern Waste that lay not far from the easternmost reaches of the so-called Western Wild. As they rode, keeping a careful watch for the elusive and storied White Stag, Lucy had a fleeting thought of the Elephants. She realized how close they all were to the land the Elephants occupied, and she realized how long it had been since an envoy was sent to check on their most remote subjects. It was in the middle of this thought that one of the courtiers cried out; the Stag had been sighted and from then on it was all galloping and the blowing of horns and the breathless excitement of the hunt. Of course, you know what happened then: the four Kings and Queens disappeared from that world, never to be seen again by anyone who lived at that time, save Aslan.

As you can imagine, there was a great deal of unrest in Narnia following the strange disappearance of her beloved monarchs. When the Elephants heard what had happened to the Kings and Queens and discovered the current Narnian state of affairs, their resolve to stay where they quite comfortably were was strengthened.

"Why," they asked themselves, "when our ancestors endured so much to free us from turmoil, would we willingly go back to a land filled with it?"

And so they stayed, and continued to tell their stories but gave little more thought to Narnia than you or I do to any foreign land in our own world. As time passed, they found that their stories became harder to tell, not because they had forgotten how they went, but rather because they were having a harder and harder time in the actual telling of them. It seemed as though their mouths weren't functioning quite as they had before; their trunks and tongues got in the way and more than once a trumpeting sound came out where a word should have been. You can imagine that it was quite frustrating at first, but in time the Elephants found that they no longer were bothered by it as much as before. They began to communicate much more by trumpeting, or deep, rumbling growls or bellows, which of course are quite impressive but fairly useless when it comes to telling stories. Soon enough, they stopped using understandable speech altogether.

The Elephants had forgotten.

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Well, there it is! I basically got a list of animals who "forgot" by reading through the chapters and writing down the creatures I didn't remember seeing in other books, and I also studied the picture in my edition that shows a circle of Animals gathered around Aslan (thus the zebras, ostriches, elk, etc.). Please let me know if I have accidentally mentioned someone in error!

Thanks to **snacky **for the beta!

I'm not quite sure how I feel about this, so I would love any feedback, constructive criticism or otherwise, that you would be willing to give!


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